


Songsmith

by wearethewitches



Series: standalone dwelf and dwobbit tales [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Baby Durins, Dwarf/Elf Relationship(s), F/M, Miscommunication, Unreliable Narrator, like cabbage patch hobbits, you sing elves from starlight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:20:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26517367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearethewitches/pseuds/wearethewitches
Summary: When Kíli asks Tauriel to meet her under starlight, they wed.When Tauriel asks Kíli the same thing, they create a dwelf.-and obviously, Kíli doesn't have a clue what that question really means.
Relationships: Kíli (Tolkien)/Tauriel (Hobbit Movies)
Series: standalone dwelf and dwobbit tales [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1928107
Comments: 4
Kudos: 71





	Songsmith

When Erebor is retaken, Kíli asks to meet her under starlight.

Tauriel balks at first, unsure of how dwarves come to be – if this is a custom that they share and that Kíli will reciprocate in his own way. Hesitant, unsure if he will, Tauriel agrees, meeting with Kíli at the gates and then stealing away, out onto the mountainside.

“You know of what you ask of me, to meet here under the light of the heavens?” Tauriel questions, just to be sure. They sit on a mossy sheet of rock, the winter winds passing them by, protected as they are from the elements by an overhang. Kíli holds her hand in his own, clearly giving her question serious thought. Eventually, though, he nods.

“I do,” he says, solemn as anything. He looks at her with such love in his eyes – such _adoration_ – that Tauriel leans to kiss him, reaching out with her _fae_. If she glows to his eyes, he does not tell her and that night, they wed each other in the ways of her kind. To Tauriel, he later inquires about a wedding for dwarvish purposes alone – Kíli hesitant when they discuss it, asking her if she wants this.

“I do,” she says to him in turn, knowing that his rites are just as important as their own. On the eve of their dwarven wedding – a party of its own, with oaths sworn in front of Durin’s folk for all to hear – Tauriel asks him amidst the revelry if he will meet her under starlight again, her skin alight and blushing pink.

Kíli smiles at her, eyes warm as he says, “Let’s steal away from here.” So they do, using the hidden door from the treasury when the front gates are proven too well-guarded. They go to their secret place and their bodies meet again as they did on their first wedding.

“Make stars with me,” she says to him, not realising what she has asked until the words are already said. Kíli kisses her clavicle, murmuring _dwarrow call them pebbles._

Her heart opens to him in all ways and when her _fae_ reaches for him this time, he sees the light of the Eldar as he once did in Laketown. And while Tauriel’s voice is not meant for song, the tune is easily carried – Kíli adding his own Khuzdul rhyme, smiling that bright, jesters smile of his. Tauriel works one of the only elven magic she knows without being taught, taking parts of them and, in the depths of herself while her body sings, walks towards the heavens.

She finds a star that is willing to give light to her, bundling it up inside herself and feeding it like fire, keeping the starlight from fading as she brings it to the pieces of soul their song holds steady. _A star of our own,_ she thinks desperately, unable to keep from weeping.

Kíli presses his forehead to hers in a way of expressing love exclusive to dwarves and Tauriel feels the starlight grow stronger, the whole world blanketed in white as she journeys back to her _amrâlimê._ Out of the corner of her eyes, she sees her creator and another figure, dressed in all the trappings of a blacksmith – and if she were not so focussed on carrying her starlight home, mayhaps she would have cared more at the glimpses she saw.

But this is their _star._

Her song ends – as does Kíli’s – and she almost can’t believe the weight in her arms is real. For the longest of moments, Tauriel can only see her husband, who is more content than she has ever seen him before.

“I could hear my Maker,” Kíli tells her. “What sort of song was that, Tauriel?”

“One for making stars,” she says, finally looking down at the bundle in her arms. Her eyes prick with tears as she realises that they have a daughter – Kíli gasping sharply at the sight of her.

“We- that-” he mumbles, reaching down to press his hand to her cheek. “Tauriel…Tauriel, we- we _made_ that. We sung her into being with starlight instead of stone.”

“Stone?” Tauriel asks, “Is that how dwarrow do it?”

“A pebble is a masterwork,” Kíli says, choking on his tears as he reaches down to delicately press their foreheads together, father to daughter. “It hasn’t been done for centuries. Is this how all elven children are born?”

“Not all. Some.” And Tauriel lifts the babe up so she may kiss her nose, breathing in the scent of her. “I was sung. My father did it alone when the woman that might have been my mother, once, perished. Oh, Kíli, look at what we have made!”

Her husband sobs, then reaches over for his discarded fur cloak, holding it out so Tauriel may lay her naked body inside it, wrapping her until she is snug. Kíli’s eyes are wild and wet as he looks up at her, laughing wetly, “Fíli is going to kill us! He made bets that his child would be born first!”

“Did you make a lot of money?”

“Oh yes, yes I did!”

They treasure their daughter for as long as they can, until they cannot put off returning any further – naming her _Elia_ for the rain that falls as the trod on home. The guardsmen are confused at the bundle they carry, more so than they are at the concept of the newly-wedded being _outside_ Erebor and neither dwarf nor elf says anything to give away the truth. Not yet.

Of course, it is Bilbo they stumble upon as they make their way to the Royal Apartments, smoking Old Toby and raising his eyebrows at the sight of a tiny foot sticking out of Kíli’s cloak.

“Have you- did- what-” he splutters, asking outright, “Did you _steal_ a baby?”

“Course not, Master Boggins,” says Kíli, his joy apparent in every twist of his arms. “We made her, fair and square.”

Bilbo splutters a bit more, then backs away, presumably to fetch someone. Tauriel laughs, the sound echoing off the stone, before letting Kíli drag her to the common room that links some, if not all the Apartments, sitting down next to her love by the fire.

“We’ll have to get supplies.”

“Not yet,” Tauriel begs.

Kíli presses a kiss to her bared shoulder. “You want to hold her forever, don’t you? Our Elia…”

“You have the right of it,” she admits, never wanting to let her go, not even to Kíli. But soon, they will be surrounded by family and Tauriel passes the babe to her husband, letting him hold her against his chest, tracing her pointed ears and murmuring prayers of thanks to Mahal for her existence.

“Our Elia. Our _ghivashel.”_

At the very end of her hearing, Tauriel hears the argumentative voices of their kin and the stomping of their boots – and she lets it be, laying with her husband and daughter till the moment ends.


End file.
